


Revelry in Familiarity

by monocrow



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monocrow/pseuds/monocrow
Summary: Janus was likable. He knew. And some part deep down inside of him had known that he was being manipulated, that day in the court room. Knew that he was just a means to an end, and the flowery language, bursting at the seems with compliments was just another step to getting there. But he let himself fall into it, let himself breathe in the praise and love,becauseit was so unfamiliar and strange. He had reveled in it.After Deceit reveals his name, Janus and Roman meet per chance in the theatre.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 13
Kudos: 216





	Revelry in Familiarity

**Author's Note:**

> bro i'm so angsty about the new episode

Roman stepped into the theatre, breathing in the air – it was stagnant and stale, but familiar, vibrating with the echoes of his one-man performances on the stage. The red curtains were comforting, and he had the strange desire to wrap himself up in them, melt into them, letting the scratchy velvet caress his cheeks, then never get up again. 

The room was empty, as it almost always was. It was of his own making, so he supposed he could make it smaller – reduce the echoing and drafts, maybe alleviate the loneliness that came with speaking to an empty theatre hall full of empty seats. 

He let himself fall into the familiar steps, ones that he'd taken time and time again. Crossing over the dark carpeting, up to the sleek, varnished stairs leading to the stage. He didn't have the will to act – he was drained and tired and all the muscles in his body were strained taunt – he just didn't want to be in his room, wanted something normal and safe. 

Nothing seemed normal.

Accepting Deceit – _Janus –_ into the group was—  _ absurd_ _._ He was the villain. Roman was the prince. The hero! It was his job to put a stop to these things, nip the bud in the head before it grew into something evil, something he couldn't take care of. 

Roman went behind the curtains, backstage, letting his hand fall against them as he walked, feel the fabric dip and dance under the tips of his fingers. It was familiar.

Janus was likable. He knew. And some part deep down inside of him had known that he was being manipulated, that day in the court room. Knew that he was just a means to an end, and the flowery language, bursting at the seems with compliments was just another step to getting there. But he let himself fall into it, let himself breathe in the praise and love,  _ because _ it was so unfamiliar and strange. He had reveled in it.

He passed all the technical equipment. Lights, hoists, loudspeakers – all of them purely superficial. He could make the entire room do as he wished, since he was just a facet (or figment, because, really, what was the difference?) of the imagination, along with the beautiful, sculpted, mahogany wood of the theatre and everything between its walls. The equipment was just to make things more realistic, a result of longing for a true stage to perform on.

It was a bit sad if he thought too much about it, so he didn't.

The back area behind the stage didn't have too much in it – it was mostly just inhabited by him, after all – a table, a few couches, various water bottles and racks full of clothing changes.

The table was littered with scripts and the like, papers scattered across the floor, crumpled and tossed into the overflowing trash can. It was a mess, but it was what he was used to. He dropped into the chair in front of it and sighed. The chair was a metal fold up one, uncomfortable and rigid, but just the fact that it let him get off his feet made him love it. He let his eyes close.

"I didn't know you were a script writer."

Roman jolted, nearly falling onto the floor when he remembered there wasn't an armrest for him to grab and steady himself on. Deceit –  _ Janus _ ; he didn't know if he would ever get used to that – was standing at the edge of the room, holding one of the crumpled papers in a gloved hand, skimming over the words. He snorted.

"And it's about a prince? Isn't that rather narcissistic?" He asked, eyes still fixed on the paper, still reading. Roman stood before he knew what he was doing, and snatched it out of his hands. Janus didn't look surprised, just put his hand behind his back and smirked, trailing his gaze up to Roman.

"That's why I threw it out," He snapped, recrumpling the paper again. He did it harder than necessary, and it dug into his hand. He tossed it back to the trash can without looking away. "What are you doing here?"

Janus shrugged. "I could be asking you the same thing. Last time I checked this wasn't your personal stage. It isn't in your room, so isn't everyone allowed?" 

Roman stepped back and avoided Janus's eyes, opting to look at the mess of papers scattered across the table. It was less painful, but only by a margin.

"Fine." He bit out. "Do what you please, snake." He said. It came out less venomous than he had intended. More like a pitiful, defeated sigh than anything bitter. But Janus didn't laugh at him, like he had expected. Small victories.

Leaving the theatre would be admitting that Janus had won, in a way. That was something his pride wouldn't allow. But staying meant that he had to stay in his company. It was awkward and stuffy, and he wasn't really in the mood for a fight as it was. 

He slunk back down in the chair anyway.

It was cool against his skin, where the fabric stopped on the nape of his neck. He let his eyes close again. It was blessedly quiet, surprisingly. Maybe he really should go back to his room. Take a nap. Or a bath. Maybe both.

The sound of more papers being moved made Roman stir again. He rarely would show anyone the things he wrote – embarrassing, still not good enough – and he was not about to let  _ Janus _ be one of the select few. Still he felt the snarl die in his throat when he opened his eyes.

Janus was trying to toss a paper ball into the trash can, but it bounced off the rim of it and rolled back to the floor. He was sitting on another one of the metal chairs, looking far more comfortable there than he should be. He tossed another one, and it managed to stick. Most of them were just falling off the already precarious mountain of them.

"You should really take better care of this place, Roman," he sighed. "I doubt this is a good environment to work in." 

Roman rolled his eyes. "I don't see how you would know anything about  _ good environments_ _."_ His voice rose to a goofy, mock voice of Janus's. Janus just scoffed.

"Well,  _ I _ don't see what  _ you _ mean by that. What, do you think I live in an evil villain's castle from a video game? Come now, this is real life here."

Roman ground his teeth together, but didn't say anything. It wasn't so far fetched to believe! It wasn't as if he didn't already dress like an evil villain; who's to say he didn't live like one? Instead of snapping back at him, Roman just bounced the toe of his shoe off the table leg. It really was useless at this point, wasn't it. The others had accepted Janus, then told Roman he was wrong. What did that say about him? What did that say about  _ them?  _

Janus hummed. "You know," he said, smoothing the creases out of a paper, "most of these aren't half bad. You're just overly critical."

Roman felt himself flush, then scowl. "Yeah, and the sky is green— I know you're just lying, like you always are." He snatched the paper and shoved it in the trash, pushing down the other ones to make more room.

"Do you seriously think all I can do is lie? All I  _want_ to do is tell lies? I thought you were smarter than that." Janus was scowling – glaring – now, and it sent a wave of spiteful glee down Roman's spine. "I told you earlier – I don't need to flatter you. I am being honest."

Roman glared back. "Why should I believe you?" It was a weak excuse, and it came out as such. Janus rolled his eyes.

"If you really don't believe me, then just try to think about it rationally. What would I even gain by telling you I don't think your writing is awful?"

Whatever it was that he planned on saying, it died on the tip of his tongue. A moment of silence passed between them. He shut his mouth with a click.

"Well? What would I gain?"

Roman bit his lip and turned away as another wave of silence washed over them. It was unbearable, and it made him wonder why he was still staying. Janus sighed. 

"I've... My intentions have never been to hurt you, or anyone else, for that matter. I've been unfair in the ways that I've gone about it, and for that, I will apologize." Roman let himself look back at Janus again – he was straitening another paper, with more care this time. "Everyone has to make room for their desires, too."

Janus set the paper down on the table, running a hand on the creases, only for them to pop back up again. He pushed it towards the centre of the table, then stood. He brushed off his pants, then his gloves, like they had somehow gotten dirty through their exchange. He turned to leave, and Roman could hear his footsteps echoing through the theatre. 

He could feel an 'I'm sorry' on the tip of his tongue, but the sound itself was like molasses, glued to the back of his throat, and he couldn't wrench it out. 

"Wait," Roman croaked, and he heard a pause in the footsteps. "I'm..." he said, and it came out barely over a murmur. The room was painfully quite while he tried to scrap the words off his tongue.

"It's okay," Janus said, "I know." And then he left.

Roman stared down at the paper in front of him, crumpled almost beyond recognition, words smudged by fingerprints and overuse. He could still read it, scanning his eyes over his own hand writing, scribbled out in parts, highlighted in parts he was especially proud of. He sighed, folded it, delicately, then slipped it into his pocket. At least the story was familiar.


End file.
